


One Tough Brownie

by loochskywalker



Series: Freddie/Connor getting down [6]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Anal Sex, Bruises, Established Relationship, M/M, Painplay, this is just an ode to brownie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-18
Updated: 2018-01-18
Packaged: 2019-03-06 02:24:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13401465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loochskywalker/pseuds/loochskywalker
Summary: “Does that hurt?” Freddie finally asks when they’re standing in front of each other, laid a lot more bare.Brownie doesn’t even look down just nods, “Yeah.”“How much?”“A lot.”“Can I touch it?”“Yeah.”





	One Tough Brownie

**Author's Note:**

> I finally got something finished. This is completely inspired by that insane penalty kill by brownie against columbus where he wrestled with the entire blue jackets power play unit. so basically this fic is just about how pretty boys can be tough boys and how that's the best.

Freddie has one of the best seats in the house. In his end he technically has the ultimate seat, he just also is doing work when the puck is in his own end. When it’s in the other he has to stay on his toes in case the puck goes flying, but mostly he can just watch what’s happening. And yeah, his view can be a little wonky because they’re so far away, but he still notices things. Specifically when they’re on the penalty kill and Brownie single-handedly keeps the whole Columbus Power Play unit hemmed in their own zone by sheer force of will.

It’s crazy. 

And sure, other teammates of his do well in the game, like Hainsey effectively shutting down a two on one, or Willy’s hands in general, but whatever, that’s Willy and Hainsey. That’s their job. Even if that’s technically also Brownie’s job, he always goes above and beyond when no one else even seems capable of it. 

Freddie’s competency kink seems specific to Brownie, which is just great news, since they’re dating and stuff.

After games a lot of the guys are excitable. It was different last year, when even the young guys couldn’t find any energy after a loss, all of it sucked out of them when the clock ran down. A year of turmoil has lead them to taking losses easier, assessing what they did wrong and turning it around at practice, but not letting it ruin their night. So after losing to Columbus in overtime on a frankly bullshit call, they’re all in pretty good spirits. 

Except for Brownie.

Freddie can tell the moment they’re in the room. There’s a black cloud right over Brownie’s stall, and he’s not sure anyone else can, but Freddie hones in on it immediately. 

Brownie’s kind of like a dog in some ways. Mitch always gets compared to an excitable puppy, but Brownie is more like a mellow, well trained, middle aged, family friendly dog. He’s the kind that will sit there, easy as ever, just wanting to keep you company, but if you go up to him and start acting excited, giving him high fives and shouting happily at him he’ll match your excitement right back. Brownie’s always ready to throw down if you are, but otherwise he stays quiet compared to everyone else. 

So it’s hard to notice him.

But Freddie does. 

As Brownie gets out of his pads, he moves like he’s bruised all over, and maybe he is, but he looks about two seconds from putting his face in his hands and not moving for an hour. They have a deal though: they’re not allowed to get all gross in the locker room.Brownie takes it personally if Freddie tries, like he’s being patronizing. 

So Freddie leaves him alone and focuses on himself. He gets undressed and showers and makes sure no parts of his body are particularly sore, then he gets redressed, does media, and heads out ot the parking lot where Brownie’s waiting in the car for him. The music’s on when Freddie opens the door, some lame country pop station, and Brownie’s mumbling along with the words while he plays some tetris app on his phone.

He doesn’t say anything when Freddie gets in, just smiles.

“Hey,” Freddie says.

“Hey” Brownie responds, reaching over and putting his hand on top of Freddie’s where it’s resting on the console before pulling it back and looking down at his phone.

It’s very Brownie, and Freddie almost forgets to ask him what’s wrong.

He remembers a few minutes later in traffic.

“Hey, you good? After that game?”

“Huh?” Brownie asks. Freddie can see him look up, confused, out of the corner of his eye. 

“You looked pretty beat up, just wondering if it’s all good. It’s a shitty loss, but those happen, and you played well.”

“Doesn’t matter how well I played if we still lose,” Brownie says, “But I’m fine. It’s not that bad, just took it a little rough out there. It’s like no one will give me a break. Which is stupid because they’re my competitors, like of course they’re not going to give me space but it’s like my job is to make space for other players but i just want to...go, you know?”

Freddie doesn't know, he’s a goalie, but he nods anyway, “You show off your moves sometimes” he says.

“Well, yeah, it’s not always bad. And being defensive is fun, just...more frustrating. Because once you make a mistake, it’s made, you don’t get a second chance. But on offense, like when you get a breakaway, if you miss and mess up, who cares, try again. It’s just, a puck goes by you then it’s in and then what? You just get up again?”

“Well, yeah,” Freddie says, because that’s something he understands intimately, “You have to, you have to stop the next one. Trust your teammates.”

“That sucks,” Brownie groans, “your job sucks.”

Freddie chuckles, “it’s fun, we can’t all be a hot shot.”

“Yeah, guess not,” Brownie sighs, but it sounds defeated. 

When they get home, Brownie doesn’t linger in the living room long, just takes off his coat, throws it on the couch, and heads directly for the bedroom. Freddie rolls his eyes at the coat and picks it up to hang it up himself. It’s too expensive for Brownie to be throwing it around, but then he again, he doesn’t care, not about material things like that. Even if he did, he has Freddie to follow him around and clean up after him.

Freddie isn’t complaining too much, because Brownie uses the extra time to almost completely undress by the time Freddie enters the bedroom. He’s still working on the buttons of his shirt but otherwise he has just his boxers on, his tie thrown on the bed. Freddie walks over to pick up the thin piece of fabric and run it throw his hands. It’s one of Freddie’s, he’d recognize it anywhere. It might as well be Brownie’s at this point, who takes his clothes like it’s his job. He doesn’t stop, because Freddie doesn’t ask him too. But still, he goes to hang it up where it belongs because, still, nice things. 

Brownie is watching him when he turns back around, hands down by his sides, his chest now bare. 

“What?” Freddie asks.

“You’re still in all your clothes, and you’re worrying about picking up after me. At this rate you’ll get to bed in 3 years.” He says this as he approaches Freddie and starts working on undressing him.

“I’m fine,” He says but he doesn’t make a move to stop Brownie. His hands feel too good this close, and having his attention like that always makes Freddie feel important, powerful. He likes it. He can also tell, with Brownie standing right in front of him, that he’s littered with bruises. Some of them are faint but blooming, but there are smaller sharp ones too, new ones. There’s one on his ribs, right under his arm that is thin and long and blooming a harsh, sharp, unreal blue in little specks in the middle. It looks like it came from some sort of cross check, some sort of board battle where he took a stick right against his side and instead of throwing it off was focusing on getting the puck out. It looks painful and deep and Freddie can’t stop looking at it even as Brownie guides him to strip out of his clothes.

“Does that hurt?” Freddie finally asks when they’re standing in front of each other, laid a lot more bare. 

Brownie doesn’t even look down just nods, “Yeah.”

“How much?”

“A lot.”

“Can I touch it?”

“Yeah.”

Brownie raises his arm obediently and Freddie reaches forward and traces his fingertips along it, barely touching Brownie’s skin at all but feeling around the darker specks, and then moving out to trace along the broader splotches of grey and purple. Brownie barely flinches, just watches Freddie’s face as he stares, hypnotized, at the bruise. 

He lets his fingers skate out to the softer spots and press a little more firmly, still gentle. That makes Brownie flinch a little but he keeps his arm up and doesn’t shy away. Freddie’s eyes shoot up to Brownie’s face to make sure everything is good and he looks calm, not passive but genuinely unbothered. Freddie keeps watching as he walks his fingers inward with that same pressure and stops with Brownie’s eyes shut and his brow furrows. He holds his fingers there as Brownie breathes through it, waiting until his eyes open again and his fist clenches. 

He’s dealing.

He’s battling.

He’s toughing it out.

Because this, this thing that Freddie’s into, is kind of fucked up. Brownie says it’s not that weird, says people are into bruises and cuts and scars all the time, especially people into hockey players. But it’s not...Freddie’s not just into the bruises and the cuts, he’s into the pain of them. He doesn’t like pain inflicted on himself either, he likes...to say he liked others being in pain would be a false statement, he doesn’t, especially not Brownie. But he likes...the respect bruises demand. He likes, pushing and prodding, seeing how far people can go and stopping just short of too much and pulling them back. He likes it more with people who push back, people who stand there and say ‘bring it on,’ and give him a run for his money. 

No one does that like Brownie.

He likes that Brownie’s honest with him, that he tells Freddie how he feels in plain words, knowing that Freddie won’t read in too much in them, but also knowing that Freddie will listen for genuine struggle and know to pull back. He likes that Brownie tells him it hurts and lifts his arm anyway. He likes that when Freddie presses into Brownie where he’s most sensitive Brownie doesn’t hold his breath to stop from pushing into Freddie’s hands, but he breathes deeper, holds himself sturdier, doesn’t get pushed around. 

Because to the untrained eye Brownie’s submissive, passive, he  _ takes _ , but that’s far from the truth.

Brownie’s an endurer, he’s a soldier, he’s a sturdy house in strong wind. You can’t push Brownie down, he’s built from the ground up out of strong material and if you ask him to step in front of you like a shield he will, and he won’t complain about it. And even though Freddie has no interest in making Brownie some sort of protector of his, he likes to see what Brownie can do, likes showcasing Brownie’s talents. 

It’s mostly unfair, that people see Brownie and see a guy that’s  _ maybe _ 6 feet on a good day, that’s definitely closer to 170 pounds than 180, that has light hair, soft eyes, gentle hands, and a huge smile and think that he’s just a kid. Freddie hates that Brownie is reduced to pretty parts, to gentle parts, to cute parts. It’s not that they don’t exist, Brownie is pretty and gentle and cute for sure, but those don’t even begin to make up who Brownie is. How someone can see Brownie go on the ice and take on men with 50 pounds on him and do it without complaint and then talk about how small he is blows Freddie’s mind. He himself looks almost monstrous next to Brownie, could pick him up with one arm if he really wanted to, and even he couldn’t take Brownie, if it came down to getting the puck from him. 

Brownie went toe to toe with Ovechkin and fended him off. He’s not just pretty. 

So Freddie isn’t into  _ hurting _ Brownie, doesn’t want to cause him pain or suffering, doesn’t want to make him scared or count down the seconds till Freddie’s hands leave his body. Because to him, and to Brownie, it’s Freddie’s way of saying “I see you for more than what others see you, and to prove it I won’t go easy on you.” He pushes Brownie hard because he knows Brownie can take so much more. He’s proud of Brownie and his body and what it can carry. 

And honestly, it’s the hottest thing in the world. 

Besides, when Freddie pulls his hand away and Brownie lets out a shaky breath, it’s easy to look down and see how hard Brownie is just from that.

“What do you think of?” Freddie asks, “When the other team’s guys are pressing you into the boards, shoving into you, trying to hold you down? What goes through your head when you get slashed or boarded?”

Brownie quirks a smile, “Getting the puck.”

“I love you,” Is the only response Freddie can come up with. Which is all good, it just makes Brownie smile bigger. 

When he gets Brownie in bed he doesn’t press into the bruise anymore or bite him hard. No, he holds Brownie on top of him, managing to get his arm all the way around Brownie’s lower back to make sure he doesn’t move too far. It’s slick with sweat between them as Brownie holds himself taut so Freddie can gently thrust in, rocking his hips up and down to fuck him seamlessly. 

Having Brownie on top of him like this, when he seemingly can’t do anything but take it, is the best. His neck is right in front of Freddie, exposed and untouched. He wants to bruise it up, add his own to the canvas that is Brownie’s skin, but he doesn’t. There’s something so pristine about his skin that makes Freddie want to keep it that way, so he can keep that urge to bruise boiling in the pit of his stomach. That strong, powerful feeling, and hold onto it. 

But he doesn’t stop himself from kissing it, the long expanses of skin. It helps that Brownie can’t help but let out little whines and whimpers as Freddie does, always so sensitive, especially right at the base near the line of his shoulder. 

Because here’s the really sexy thing, the part that’s running through Freddie’s mind as he thrusts into Brownie’s tight, intoxicating body: He’s tough, he’s strong, he can fight off any man if he just tries. And yet he’s here, night after night, melting into Freddie and letting him hold him tight. The sexiest part of Freddie pressing into Brownie’s bruises, of holding him down, of pushing him to the brink, is that Brownie  _ wants _ it. 

Freddie comes first, holding Brownie down and wrapping his arms tighter around him, so he can kiss Brownie hard as it all shocks through his body. It’s strong and feels like a punch to the chest and he wants Brownie as close as possible as he’s coming down. 

“Please,” Brownie whispers as Freddie gets his breathing under control, “Please Freddie, Please,”

“Yeah,” Freddie says and kisses him again. 

He loosens his grip on Brownie so they can part just enough for Freddie to reach down and start to slowly jerk him off. Brownie, being Brownie, wants it hard and fast and now but Freddie makes him wait it out, makes him feel it build and build and build until he’s shuddering and whimpering and cumming between them like his world just fell apart. He watches Brownie cum, his lips quivering and then opening gracefully as he gasps. He presses his thumb into Brownie’s lips and feels how warm and wet it is. 

Because Brownie is so much more than being pretty, but there’s no denying that’s definitely part of him.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks so much for reading! please leave kudos or comments if you can! and come talk to me on tumblr @mitchmarnersnohomopillow


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